so it begins
the cycle of drought and storm
praying for the end of both
the sky majestic, silent,
does not deign to notice
our withered crops, starving
gardens, parched lawns,
and so we pray, Christ wept,
let the clouds weep for me

then the floods
then the hail
then the storms that ripped
the roof from the house
rivers that overflowed
lakes that disappeared
then a chunk of Antarctica drops off
and the thought occurs, maybe we shouldn’t
have prayed at the gas pump

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